


In Words and In Paint

by impropermanners (prettyoddsoren)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art School, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:46:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyoddsoren/pseuds/impropermanners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He thinks he's gotten his hair and nose quite right, but his eyes and smile remain a bit evasive. Different from the earthy, midnight tones he tends to favour, he's chosen a soft palette over Kraft paper, dry pastels held tight on his hand. He remembers the easy, warm smile the model offered to the entirety of the staff, him included, and he can't help to smile back at that memory.</p><p>Thorin wished he'd known the man's name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, before you get started, some explanations.  
> English is not my mother tongue, if you see any spelling, grammar mistakes feel free to point them out. I have no beta (yet?) so it's all my fault. This thing started as an au prompt that popped in my head while I was on my art appreciation class. Not that I would get any good results by having a teacher like Thorin but, one can dream. 
> 
> The title comes from this quote: “If I could say it in words there would be no reason to paint.” -Edward Hopper 
> 
> Here's the link to that au prompt: http://impropermanners.tumblr.com/post/111751179335/exhales-alright-an-au-where-thorin-is-an, and thank you for stopping by. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are heavily encouraged!
> 
> Edit: I did a small change, since it was too repetitive to read "Erebor University" and "Erebor Enterprises", so Thorin's family business is called Durin Enterprises from now on.

He was late for class.

His alarm, trusty as it had been for years, had decided to leave him stranded and just not ring at six in the morning. It was only when Fíli rang him that he saw how behind of schedule he was already, and he hurried around his apartment looking for his shoes and his jacket, munching a bit of toast before leaving home. Even his bed was left a mess.

It’s not his thing, to arrive late. He has a perfect record of attendance, missing only one or two classes when Dís had the car accident and she had to stay in bed for a week. When Fíli and Kíli were unable to handle her, he’d stepped in. But that was the extent of it, really. He wasn’t the kind of teacher who arrived half an hour later, or worse, the kind that could just skip going to work and send an email with the session’s contents. Even if he’d been a bit reluctant at first when Gandalf had offered him the place at Erebor University, he had learned to love his job. The fact that he could see how his students found their own styles and themes made him feel like he’d succeeded, and their unguarded appreciation and thankfulness was something he sincerely treasured.

His motorbike worked well enough and he rode it through empty streets, dodging the bits of traffic that he was sure to find that late in the morning. The familiar sight of the art building greeted him, the pavement littered with autumn colored leaves that announced the season’s arrival. Of course, he had forgotten to wear a scarf that day and his face was sure to freeze off. He’d never been one to stand a bit of cold weather. After parking next to the Dean’s old Volkswagen and making sure the bike was not going to scratch the paint, he ran through the corridors and up two floors, finding the door to his classroom and arriving slightly out of breath. He was ten minutes late, and the classroom was full already.

“Mr. Durinson, are you alright?”, asked one of the transferral students as he entered the room and smiled at his surprised audience.

“Yes, it’s all fine. So sorry about the delay guys, my alarm wasn’t too keen about waking me up today, it seems”, he excused himself with a shy smile, followed by giggles from his art students. “Right, let’s get to work, shall we?”

The windows of the bright classroom were wide open, the chill of autumn setting in and mixing with the scent of trementine and oil paintings . Somewhere, one of his students had turned on the radio, and a local radio station played softly in the background. Thorin walked between his students, checking their work. It was something tricky, to evaluate something so individual as a piece of art, so he instead tried to focus in what his students’ intentions were while painting, and trying to create with them a path they could follow. More than doing an evaluation of their work, Thorin assisted them in making the art they really wanted to do, without hesitation or self consciousness. And he saw a great deal of passion and potential hidden in some of them.

His years in art school had not been the easiest, as he were to remember. Mostly because his family was not quite on board with him pursuing such an unsteady profession while the family’s business stood on the background, unattended. It had been his father and grandfather’s wish for him to step up as head of Durin Enterprises, for him to wear a suit and a clean cut and manage accounts worth billions of dollars.  
Instead, he’d chosen to have his hair tied up in a bun with paintbrushes that stuck out from different directions, some of them filled with paint and still wet. He’d had some interesting accidents while wearing his entire set of brushes on his head. In any case, he would insist in how it was easier to just pull them from his hair than look for them in the vases around his studio.

After secondary school he managed to do one semester of business and economics, and that didn’t last since he dropped out of college. The whole ordeal had been quite unlikely, coming from him. Being the eldest, he was supposed to carry on with the family name, taking charge of the vast, vast kingdom his family had set up throughout the years, even after facing absolute destruction from a fierce competitor that had gone to extreme ends to set fire to the empire that was Durin Enterprises, and the Durinsons. And that had been his intention, really. He wanted to manage the work of his family and carry on with it, to secure it and make it last so his nephews could carry on with the legacy. And so on.

He had been different from his brother Frerin and sister Dís. They all received the same education, but Thorin had discovered from a young age how he could sit down with a piece of paper and an used pencil, and sketch the birds that would nest around the house’s trees. He would draw his mother while she did some gardening under the spring sun, smiling and content and healthy. It had been a soft calling, since he could remember. He knew the duty he had to fulfill for his family and gods above knew he tried. But business school had seemed a bit... stiff.

Dull.

Frerin had been ready to take over the company as soon as he graduated, which had been a couple of years after from Thorin, and it eased his mind that at least his brother and sister were ready to carry on with the family’s name.

“Mister Durinson, I think I’m stuck”, a voice next to one of the big windows asked above the soft humming from the radio.

Thorin smiled and went to check on his student’s work. Ori Rison was, perhaps, one of his most gifted students. Her references were clear in her work, but she had started to develop a more unique style. This particular piece was a plethora of forest animals and flora, the work done in kraft paper, and charcoal and white pencil. It was mesmerising, as her work often was, and he could see where she had problems.

“Tell me Ori, what’s the matter. It’s a beautiful piece, serene and delicate”, Thorin praised and that earned him a blush from his student.

“Well, thank you mr. Durinson. I just... I’m not sure if I should leave it without a border or just spread the flowers and the branches right to the end of the paper”, she explained, indicating with her hand the extent of the work she thought about doing.

“I see. Well, most of the time you make a border for your images. Why don’t you try expanding, as you said, and see what happens?”, he pressed a bit. Most of the instruction he gave to his class was that of pushing boundaries, discovering elements that would aid to their personal styles.

Ori nodded and went right back to work, her hand holding the charcoal firmly as she extended a line towards the paper’s edge.

 

The class ended and his students packed their projects carefully. Some of them chose to leave them in the studio, knowing that Thorin’s space was one where students respected personal belongings and works in progress. They went out, one by one, saying goodbye to their teacher in soft voices and sporting bright smiles. It warmed him to know his class was that appreciated and valued, as he strived to be a good guide and a competent teacher.

The sun shone bright and the sky outside was blue still, even if the temperature had dropped several degrees throughout the month. As much as Gandalf had insisted, he’d only agreed in teaching courses for the advanced semesters, knowing that his teaching methods were often seen as aggressive and careless from starting students who wished for a permanent, instructing teaching methods. Truth be told, Thorin had never been one for teaching.

The short break between classes allowed him to take a break and pop downstairs for something warm to drink. That, and he had skipped his breakfast completely too. The faculty’s small café wasn’t packed at that time of the day, and he spotted Bofur there, cleaning the countertops as he whistled this or that song. The barista had warmed up to him almost instantly, and they had become sort of close, Bofur knowing what the usual for Thorin was after his fourth visit.

“Thorin! My, you look like hell today!”, Bofur smiled and said as a greeting as Thorin stood in front of the cashier. “Shall I give you coffee today instead of chocolate?”

“I don’t look that bad, Bofur”, Thorin snorted and pulled out some money. “Just woke up late, that’s all”.

“Long evening?”, the barista asked as he went behind the counter to warm up a croissant to go with his usual hot chocolate.

“I think I may have to get a new alarm clock”, he sighed. Bofur laughed and poured Thorin a cup of warm, fragrant hot chocolate and packed his food to go.

“Those two nephews of yours were around here earlier, asked me to tell you not to forget dinner at Dis’ place tonight”, Bofur commented as he accepted Thorin’s money.

“Right. Say hi to Bombur for me, will you? Ah! I forgot to ask, what did your uncle Bifur say about the portrait?”, Thorin said as an afterthought, remembering the commission Bofur and his brother had asked for his uncle on his birthday.

“Oh, he loved it! It’s a great piece of work Thorin, I personally like how you handle color palettes”, Bofur commented smartly. Thorin laughed.

“Consider asking Gandalf for a teaching spot, will you? You can’t trick me, you know”, Thorin said with a warm smile and he waved him goodbye, rushing upstairs, back to his room.

 

His second class focused in technique. Most of his students selected simple topics where they could focus their attention in taking care of the brush stroke, the color mixing, and the overall finish of the works. This class held younger students but not fresh years, and Thorin would usually spend the first twenty minutes or half hour giving out some tips and a bit of art history background. He would’ve been glad to teach some art appreciation theory but in the end, he was glad to spend the day putting his skills to practice.  
The Dean, a tall, gray haired old man by the name of Gandalf Grehim, had the habit of sneaking into Thorin’s classes. He would sit in the back and pull out his own sketchpad, and hum along the soft music accompanied by static that would pour out from the radio in particularly cold days. He’d been one of the faculty’s teachers back in the day, and after retiring and travelling the world for five years or so, he’d gone back to the place where he had started, ready to give back the knowledge he had acquired on the road. The university’s headmaster, miss Galadriel Lorien had been happy to welcome him back. He was, by all means, an unconventional teacher and co worker.

This being said, he truly loved to sneak in and watch Thorin’s classes. He had been his student, years ago, and the serious, almost brooding character of Thorin had sparked interest in Gandalf. Here he was, this heir to the throne of one of the most important enterprises in the world, studying anatomy for artists with several pencils and pens stuck to his hair bun, and a concentrated gaze in his face as he detailed a human body in his sketchpad. Here was a man who was, undoubtedly, pursuing his passion in life. Gaining his trust had been a difficult task but in the end, he’d managed so and their correspondence continued even after Thorin’s graduation and Gandalf’s departure. Right after Galadriel assigned him as the Dean of the Art and Design faculty, Gandalf didn’t hesitate in asking Thorin to be part of his staff.

“I’m not made for teaching Gandalf, you surely know this”, he said, exasperated, after the tenth or so visit of his old teacher to his studio. Thorin was immersed in a big canvas, the scene depicting a fierce gorilla, with dark green, blue and red palettes surrounding the animal’s dominant expression. His face sported a stroke or two of paint.

Gandalf smiled at him.

“I think there’s more of you that you don’t understand yet. And you were one of my best students, dear Thorin. I’ve said it several times”, the old man replied, sitting down next to one of the big, open windows. Thorin exhaled.

He convinced his student to give a class or two in the mornings, no first years as Thorin had asked (“I don’t think they would like my character, that’s all”), and he quickly became one of the student’s favorites. Even those who were not enrolled in art or design classes knew of his skills and character, and often asked for a spot or two in his classes, even if they were optatives.  
Gandalf had sketched half of Thorin’s face when he saw a shadow looming over him. With a chuckle, he closed his sketchpad and looked up to see the non amused expression Thorin directed to him.

“Again?”, he simply asked and as Gandalf nodded, he pulled a chair to sit next to the Dean.

“It’s a wonderful class my boy. I can see some progress in some of your students”, Gandalf pointed out as he nodded towards two or three of the kids currently painting canvases.

“I do try my best, you know”, Thorin sighed and slumped back a bit, rubbing his eyes.

“They approved the budget, I was going to tell everyone later at the staff meeting but now that I’m here I might as well tell you now”, the old man said, opening the sketchpad again and scribbling down a note or two in a corner of Thorin’s sketch.

“Does this mean we can do field trips and such?”, Thorin snorted. Gandalf laughed.

“Yes, yes. We can also hire new live models for the classes. Mister Dwalin had been asking for those”, he sighed and put his pencil through the notebook’s wire loops.

“My students from the morning class want to see if we can have a model every once in a while. Some of them are a bit rusty in that department”, the teacher asked.

"Hmm... I think we can manage it. Leave the request with miss Dori if you don’t mind. You know I forget some things throughout the day”.

Thorin laughed.  
“Yes, but never my classes”, he said, fondly.

“Wouldn’t miss them for the world, my dear boy”.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading the first chapter! I'm quite surprised about the number of kudos and hits. Here's the second chapter, I hope you'll enjoy it as well!

“Come on Sig, just one coffee, I swear I won’t do anything to embarrass you”, Fíli pleaded to the blonde, blue-eyed girl.

Sigrid sighed, typing down on her laptop as she sat under a big oak tree, right outside the Art and Design faculty.

The weather was slowly moving towards cold, with autumn coming in full force. The students would be often seen wrapped in cardigans, jackets, beanie hats and scarves, and the line in the school cafes and cafeterias was often occupied.

That particular day, the sun was shining through the clouds, bringing a bit of warmth to the pupils outside, a fact that Sigrid took advantage of, since it had been weeks of her doing library research and working inside the buildings. She quite didn’t mind the cold, but a bit of sun was never to be depreciated.

“You said that last time”, she mentioned stiffly.

“I promise this will be different. Just you and me, wherever you like. How does that sound?”, Fíli asked, his hands clasped in front of his face, and doing his best impression of what ‘puppy eyes’ would be.

Sigrid typed down a phrase or two before running her eyes through the document. She nodded and closed her laptop, and as she saved it inside her bag, she sighed. Turning to Fíli, she stared at him with seriousness in her expression.

“Alright. The small french cafe next to Liberal Arts. Tomorrow after my 3pm class”, she declared and stood up to leave. Fíli nodded with the widest smile he could manage, and waved her goodbye.

He watched her walk over the stone path, between the now fading trees, concentrated in the sway of her hips and the golden light reflected from her hair, that he missed his uncle quietly sitting next to him.

“You’re so far gone, I should tell your mother”, he murmured, taking a sip from his now tepid chocolate.

Fíli far from jumped from his spot, looking at Thorin wide eyed and blushing from head to toe.

“It’s rude to sneak on people, you say it all the time!”, Fíli exclaimed as his heart settled back to a normal pace. Thorin chuckled.

“She’s a good student. Dwalin says so. Don’t screw it up, will you?”, Thorin asked and stood up, patting his dark jeans. “And don’t miss your class, off you go”, he said, pulling Fíli up from the ground.

After a quick goodbye, Fíli was soon on his way to his cinematography class. Thorin saw no signs of his younger nephew.  It had become a habit for them to visit Thorin in between breaks, when time allowed it and finals weren’t hovering on their lives. Kíli was on his second year of graphic design, and Fíli was finishing his fifth semester of audiovisual arts, both scoring outstanding grades but being nonetheless light spirited and quite mischevious. Almost all the faculty knew them, from one class or another. Apart from being troublemakers, they were quite the heart breakers.

Thorin enjoyed quietly his last break of the day, the breeze refreshing his neck and hands. The temperature contrast between that of the chocolate and the weather surrounding him, made him feel at ease, relaxed. It had been a while since he last felt like it.

He went inside the faculty building, greeting passing students with a smile or a wave of his hand. The corridors, usually packed with chattering, hurried students, were clearing out as the classes came to an end. He found a sense of comfort in the thought of seeing them again the next day, ready to work and learn and create while nurturing their skills and talent. If someone would’ve told him years before that he would end up teaching in a  university, he would’ve called them insane.

It turned out, he quite enjoyed sharing his knowledge, and learning from his students in return.

The door to his office was open, and it did not surprise him to find Dwalin sitting on his chair with his feet prompted up his desk. He was eating what appeared to be a bagel, and held one of Thorin’s books open.

“Dada? Really? Aren’t they a bit fresh to be dealing with that?”, Thorin asked and sat in front of his life long friend that was, if he was honest to himself, more like an older brother.

“No they’re not. We’re exploring techniques and right now they’re doing a lot of papier collé and collages. Maybe I’ll assign them a constructivist poster for next week, keep them busy”, he smiled and settled the book on his desk. “Right, I’m here to remind you we have dinner at your sister’s place. And I don’t plan to miss it”, Dwalin said, looking at Thorin with a stern eye. His friend sighed.

“I thought you’d say that. Frerin messaged me today too”, Thorin replied and went towards the rack, taking his coat and scarf off.

“It’s important, Thorin. I know you didn’t want to take action against that bastard but, you know your siblings”, he said and stood up from Thorin’s desk, putting his own jacket on. Thorin scratched the back of his head while holding his scarf, a habit born from plenty of awkward and uncomfortable situations.

“Did they find them? The portraits, I mean” Thorin said in a quiet voice, and Dwalin nodded.

“Frerin is suing him. Don’t think it’ll end up nicely”, the bigger man replied. “Come, let’s just get out of here before Gandalf has another of his surprise meetings”, Dwalin smiled and ushered Thorin out from the room and the university.

 

His sister was probably his biggest fan. Dís wasn’t an artist herself, she was more business oriented like Frerin was, and did an amazing job as the CEO of Erebor Enterprises. However, being around Thorin while he went through university and after he had set up his study had made her interested in learning and knowing more about art. Thus, Dís had become an avid fan of the impressionists, Degas being her favorite artist. She did not own any original pictures, as she believed they were meant to be enjoyed by everyone. Every time she had the chance to donate to this or that museum, she did it almost with her eyes closed.

It didn’t surprise her to see her sons pursuing artistic careers. Thorin had been the closest thing to a father for them, since her husband Víli died a couple of months after Kíli’s birth. A stroke had taken him on his sleep, in spite of being a reasonably healthy adult man. Far from being sad about his death, Dís remembered him with happiness, with a warm sense of love that she sought to convey to her boys. Pictures of Víli could be found around the house, the most special one a family portrait taken days after Kíli was born. 

 

Thorin held him in high praise and taught his nephews to never forget the kind, smart, loving man he had been.

She couldn’t ask for a better older brother. Thorin was sensible, responsible. He was passionate and devoted to his craft. Even if he seemed a bit serious, she knew how loving he was, the kind of man he’d grown up to be.

So when her older brother had gotten his heart broken and his work stolen, at the same time, she was ready to track down whoever had damaged him in such a way, and make them pay. Ten years later her time had come, and oh boy, wasn’t she enjoying it.

The series of portraits greeted him from afar, as he entered Dís’ house. He remembered them vividly, the familiar faces of his family portrayed in medium sized canvases, each one thought to represent the essence of his siblings, his mother and father, and his grandfather. The colours varied from the autumn-shades his mother was ever so fond of, to the midnight, winter tones thought specially for his late grandfather. The work had been done ten years ago. Ten. Thorin hadn’t been able to just forget about those portraits. They were supposed to be his big breakout, but they never arrived to New York.

Instead, he found out his manager and back then, whom he thought was his significant other (Thorin had never been good with naming things), had disappeared with both the works and the money from the transaction.

“They’re in perfect state. That bastard truly knows how to do his job”, Dís stated as she leant against a wall, her eyes following Thorin’s form as he crouched down to check the state of his paintings, running a finger softly over the painted surface of the canvas.

“Frerin said he’s suing him. How...?”, he drifted off mid sentence, not looking up towards his sister.

“I’ve been keeping a track on him. He’s subtle when he wants to, I guess he thought we had given up, three years ago I think. Documents from the transaction, the agreement with the Guggenheim Museum, his own records... what gave him away was that he actually tried to sell the paintings. The bastard”, Dís said and the anger she felt was not hidden from her words.

Thorin stood up and turned around to face Dís. His expression was calm, but his eyes conveyed a pacified anger, the thought of his paintings lost forever had been one to haunt his present, and for once he felt at ease, like he could breathe again. The remains of what he felt after the betrayal were still there, hidden somewhere. Ready to jump up when someone tried to get too close for comfort. Thranduil had definitely left his mark.

“Does this mean I’ll have to face him?”, Thorin asked with a sigh. The thought made him uncomfortable.

“Well... I suppose. It’s your work, Thorin. Frerin and I do want to take that man to court but in the end is your decision. Think about it, will you?”, Dís asked fondly, giving Thorin’s shoulder a soft squeeze. “Now come, Kíli won’t stop talking about that Tauriel girl.”

He got to his own apartment late in the evening. Dís’ dining room had been packed with almost all of  their friends and family, who had become closer after the passing of their parents and grandfather. It was always nice to see Bofur and Bombur, and the old Bifur who, despite suffering a stroke that made him unable to speak, remained the warm, caring man he’d been while Thorin grew up. Balin, Dwalin’s brother who was more an uncle to him than anything else, always had a smile to offer the Durinsons. Fíli and Kíli loved his stories growing up.

Still, it was nice to go home and put on some Tchaikovsky (an acquired taste from his university years, thanks to his roommate who was a music major and a classical music fan), and pour down a glass of red wine.

He would deal with suing his ex later.

 

The staff was sitting all inside the meeting room, which was more like a studio that had gone out of use a long time ago. The chatter was loud and everyone seemed quite into their own business rather than preparing for a faculty meeting. Thorin sat down, checking his phone mindlessly while Dwalin chatted up one of the new teachers who in turn seemed to be blushing up to the tips of her ears.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, if I could have a moment of your time?”, Gandalf asked while he entered the room, carrying a heavy folder under his arm. The lights of the room dimmed and the talking voices faded down.

Gandalf was not really a businessman and he hated to have to deal with money issues, but the faculty’s budget had gotten a considerable rise and of course the academic committee wanted to know what they were going to do with all that money.

“Amongst the ocean of petitions you have so kindly submitted to our office, some of them which will be posted on the faculty’s facebook page so you all know the creativity of our staff”, Gandalf started, followed by the chuckles of the teachers and administrative staff , “some issues are to be attended right away. The budget expansion for new textbooks and field trips, namely trips to museums across the country and perhaps an overseas trip or two if we’re lucky, was authorized”, he said, moving a laser pointer to the presentation projected on the wall.

“Louvre is absolutely doable!”, yelled Dwalin from the back of the room.

“Yes, mister Fundin, I’ll keep that in mind”, Gandalf sighed. “Now, with the new budget some infrastructure changes can begin to march, such as the replacement of desks, doors, blackboards. The classrooms will be fitted with audiovisual equipment, so they are available anytime you need them. We all know how complicated it is to deal with the lab.

“And finally, much to my personal delight, we’ll be able to have live models in the different courses of the undergraduate programs. We will hire a small agency for them but also will do an open call to any interested students on campus. A reasonable payment will be given, so please be kind to spread the word though your students”, Gandalf commented.

The meeting continued with some questions from the teachers and answers from the administratives. Miss Dori, Gandalf’s assistant, kept note of every comment and was quick to address any questions Gandalf was not able to answer properly. It seemed sometimes that Dori was the one truly in charge of the faculty, but then again, every dean’s assistant was the true power behind it all.

“You’ll have some models in your class then?”, Dwalin nudged Thorin. He nodded.

"Will be useful to have them once or twice in the semester. Here is for hoping they don't have stuck up attitudes. Heaven knows I can't deal with that", Thorin chuckled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

 

The portraits were hung one next to the other in Dís’ hallway. The previous artwork that decorated her walls had been taken off and now the familiar faces of her family greeted every visitor as they stepped in. The kind eyes of her mother, his father’s warm smile, and his grandfather’s wise eyes brought a sense of warmth and coziness to her already homely house, and she felt safe and surrounded by the faces of those who had been with her every step of the line, as she grew up to be a strong, fierce woman. That same love she felt for her brother who had always made an effort to be what their family expected him to be, even if it wasn’t ruling an empire.

And it was that same love that would help her find the way to bring justice for them to the light.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Thorin held a paintbrush in his mouth as he stood in front of the big, blank canvas staring back at him almost intimidating.

It was a familiar feeling that he did not cherish at all, being stuck and what nots. It had not happened to him in years, his mind was usually active, filled with ideas that flitted back and forth, joining and parting, morphing with every opportunity.

That saturday morning felt crisp, fresh with a breeze that swayed the trees in front of his house with their leaves already turned into yellow, maroon, brown and orange, that dropped softly, almost quietly to the floor. If Thorin had looked out through the window, he would’ve seen the neighboring children running around, jumping into piles of leaves, their laughter carried away by the wind.

And still, Thorin felt he wasn’t able to decide about what to fill that canvas with.

A soft clatter of keys and a twisting doorknob pulled him out from his reverie.

“Uncle? You here?”, the familiar voice of his nephews carried through the first floor. Fíli and Kíli went upstairs, carrying some paper bags. The boys found their uncle standing, still staring at the canvas and when he felt their presence in the room, his shoulders slumped.

“Huh, art block”, Fíli muttered while they set the warm chocolates and the poppy seed cakes in dishes from the kitchenette. “Mum said you probably haven’t eaten since yesterday so, here, our treat”, he continued, setting the table for him, his brother, and his uncle. Kíli pulled Thorin from his spot, and pushed him into one of the plush, soft chairs.

They ate their breakfast in a comfortable silence, filled only by the soft, warm humming from the radio, an old rock radio station that Thorin favored. Bruce Springsteen’s voice could be distinguished, crooning smoothly through the space.

Thorin would remember mornings like this when they were nothing but tiny little children, running around the house, yelling and laughing, while Dís and he whipped up some kind of breakfast for them, something to still them for more than ten minutes, because they were small whirlwinds, little tornadoes that wrecked havoc anytime, anywhere. And Thorin loved it. He didn’t mind that half the walls of the house were filled with paint scribbles, pencil drawings and rainbows. He didn’t mind that the back yard was littered with wooden swords, that the far right corner was now a massive fort where the boys would spend rainy afternoons and saturday mornings reading, painting, laughing. Living. They had grown up to be incredible men. Granted, they were still feisty and cheerful, but they too had a strong sense of responsibility and were hard working, dedicated individuals.

They were also curious as a cat.

“Mum hung up the portraits yesterday, they look great in the hallway”, Fíli said, finishing his chocolate.

“Yeah Uncle! When are you going to paint us?”, Kíli teased and both him and his brother laughed. Thorin chuckled.

“I’ve been painting your silly faces since you were born. Your mother has a folder filled with sketches, watercolours, and I think I have a canvas or two of you”, Thorin pointed a finger to them, swinging it as he talked, “But, I’m glad you like them”, he finally said, a soft smile adorning his face.

Both of them smiled, and went silent again. On the radio, Springsteen’s song had finished and some indistinct commercial was on.

“You never told us what happened with those paintings. Or about that man”, Fíli said, looking right at Thorin.

The older man flinched at his nephew’s words and sat up a bit more straight on his chair. He clasped his hands and gave them a stern look. Well, he thought, they’re old enough to know now.

“I met Thranduil before I finished art school”, he began. Fíli and Kíli pushed their empty cups and the soiled napkins aside, and crossed their arms over the table, like they did when they were younger.

“He wasn’t a teacher there, more like the museum’s curator. He was also a couple of years my senior and would often talk to me when I visited the place. I used to acknowledge him, greet him and say my goodbyes, that kind of stuff. You know I’ve never been one for making friends easily.

“One day, he saw me working on the museum’s garden. I was doing some flower watercolours, for practice mostly, and he sat down next to me. He didn't speak, just, sat there as I painted flower after flower. I didn't notice, but a couple of hours had passed. When I finished, he was still sitting there and he asked for my name.

> _"Those are beautiful illustrations, Thorin. I would like to see more of your work", he said once Thorin had introduced himself. His face, lithe and fine, as if it had been carved by Botticelli, smiled at him warm and with interest. Thorin regarded him for a moment, trying to quiet down the thrum in his ears.  He shrugged and nodded._
> 
> _" Next time, I suppose. After finals", Thorin  answered. The blonde man stood up and brushed Thorin's shoulder with a deliberate slow pace._
> 
> _"I'll be looking forward to it", he replied, and with a subtle nod he marched away._

"And it started there, I suppose. He's different from me, more open, sociable. He had a way of speaking to me that demanded my absolute and undivided attention and when I noticed, I was bound to him. I was still gruff, still closed off, but not to him.

"Some months later I was working on the portraits and he was all at once paying too much attention to the work, and later, he vanished."

Fíli and Kíli had their eyes wide open in surprise, almost holding their breath.

"He stole the paintings", Kíli murmured. "Why? Why did he betray you?"

"I wasn't the first, you must know", Thorin commented and stood up from his chair. "He had stolen some artwork before, and had made a living from it. I fell for it, for his praise and attention. Betrayal is something I cannot forgive, nor forget", he finished with a grave, severe voice. " He betrayed me because I was too trusting, too open."

Kíli sat up straight and exhaled, just as Fíli. Truth be said, they didn't remember their uncle having anything close to a significant other. Friends and family, those he had and cherished, kept them close and assisted when they needed him. But a girlfriend or a boyfriend? Never. It clicked easily for them, why Thorin was still on his own. The Durinsons were not a family that forgave betrayal.

"Did you love him, Uncle?", Kíli asked.

"No, I don't think I did. I trusted him, was... Flattered by him. He obviously knows about art, and I felt his approval was somehow a way for me to justify my work", Thorin smiled sadly.

Fíli stood up and walked towards his uncle, leaving a hand on his shoulder and giving him a soft squeeze. Kíli soon enough stood up and went towards his family, giving them a warm smile and leaving his hands atop both of their shoulders.

“We’ll get out of this together. We can promise you that, Uncle Thorin”, Kíli said, determined.

 

Monday came and the school was busy, with students running from here to there carrying heaps of books and chattering either happily or morosely in the hallways. It wasn’t time for finals yet, but those were soon approaching, and the feel of them was there, in the air. Not threatening, not quite yet.

Gandalf sat on Thorin’s desk, reading a book.

Kundera had seemed a bit evasive for years, and he had not been able to sit down and tackle one of his novels down. Not that he had the time now but he would take the book out for reading when his staff were out for lunch, while he commuted, before he went to sleep. The book accompanied him everywhere.

The meeting with the academic board had gone... well, just to say it had been uneventful, unlike most of the times. Saruman had not been quite happy with the prospects, specially with the trips overseas, but Galadriel had been quick to assure him they could be arranged without messing with any other faculty’s budget. Sometimes, Galadriel didn’t mind to hide her obvious preferences regarding her academic staff, if the subtle eyeroll Elrond gave while typing down the meeting’s act was anything to go by.

He completely missed the teacher coming into the classroom with his arms fully loaded with rolls of paper.

“I’d thank you if you didn’t trespass into my classroom without my permission Gandalf”, he muttered while he stored the paper in different drawers. Gandal hopped down from the table and smiled, leaving the book closed over the desk.

“Oh but Thorin, would you deny this old man a bit of warmth and quietude for his reading?”, Gandalf said, almost pouting.

“I’m sure miss Dori is a silent woman, even more than a mouse”, Thorin replied, turning around to face Gandalf with his arms crossed over his chest. “Anything in particular you want to tell me, now that we’re here?”.

“Clever man”, Gandalf smiled and pulled a chair next to Thorin, while they sat down. “After a long, exhaustive meeting with the directive board, the expenses for the faculty have been sorted out and everything is on its way”, he smiled and clasped his hands.

“Well, that’s wonderful. Besides being a teacher for this faculty, what does it have to do with me?”, Thorin sighed.

“We are going to have a magistral class, to introduce the models. Some students were selected and the agency I mentioned is sending two, to make a total of five. I think that’s appropriate, balanced, even”, the dean commented. “And I was wondering if we could use your classroom for that purpose”, he concluded, hands spread open, and a coy, childish smile adorning his old, weathered face. Thorin quite adored this man, but had to remain firm, otherwise he’d do whatever he pleased. More, as if he didn’t do so already.

“Do I have a chance to object to this?”,the teacher sighed and stood up towards his bag, pulling out a bar of Snickers Midnight and tossing it towards Gandalf. “Just let me know when, so the place is not... a mess”, he finished, fake exhaustion in his voice.

Gandalf opened the wrapper and took a bite from the chocolate bar as he picked up his book, and chuckled, leaving Thorin alone in his classroom.

 

Said classroom held teachers and tutors two days later as they waited for the announced models to step inside. A couple of student monitors were also seated, chattering between them enthusiastically. Gandalf, wearing a long, knitted grey scarf, sat at his usual place, Thorin’s desk, and said teacher sat on the desk’s chair, reading a short poem book.

Two of the models came into the room.

First, a tall, pale girl stepped inside, with long, billowy red hair and a kind face. She had green eyes and a shy smile, and her long green coat waved behind her as she came in and sat on one of the chairs placed at the front of the classroom. Behind her, and with a flushed face and racing breath, a young man came in. He had curly, golden hair, the kind you’d see in pure honey. He wore a beanie hat and a plaid shirt, fitted jeans and worn out Converse.

“That’s Tauriel!”, Kíli piped in behind his uncle, making him jump from his chair.

“You lot aren’t supposed to be here”, he said, giving both Fíli and Kíli a stern eye. They both shrugged.

“Gandalf said we could stay. Besides, Tauriel is really nervous, look at her face”, Fíli pointed out and the three Durinsons turned around to see the young woman who was waving back at them. Kíli blew her a kiss.

“She is quite pretty”, Thorin acknowledged. Then, he looked next to Tauriel.

The young man took his beanie off and stuffed it inside his backpack. He smiled, almost shy, and waved back to some students that greeted him from afar. It was the first time he’d seen the man in his life, but he wasn’t sure if he was a student or one of those fancy agency models Gandalf had spoken about.

Before Thorin had a thought to ask about the man’s name, Gandalf stood up and walked to the front. Thorin remembered listening to the dean presenting each individual but, truth be said, he didn’t pay a lick of attention. It was difficult to listen to the old man when the man, who sat down, fiddled his hands in an almost anxious way, still red up to the tips of his ears, smiling nervously.

Smiling nervously at him.

The class passed in a blur as both models stripped down to their underwear and the diligent students put pencil to paper. A myriad of sketches were done that morning, from both teachers and pupils.

When Thorin cared to notice, he hadn’t drawn one single line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it issss, the third chapter.  
> The plot is suddenly going somewhere!  
> This thing is... actually coming along nicely, which surprises me. I haven't written a long story in years, and uni is taking up most of my time but I am determined to do this, the idea makes me ridiculously happy and I love to picture Thorin as a dumbstruck art teacher.  
> As always, kudos and comments are more than welcome. Let me know what you think!


End file.
